Dreaming of things unsaid
by Redemption Moon
Summary: After everything goes wrong, it seemed like nothing will ever be back to normal. Now that Ken is locked away in his own mind, will it be left to chance or to choice whether or not he breaks free? AxK


R_M: Wow. I have been out of action for YEARS!! And it seems like no one has been posting too much around here. I miss writing and getting reviews. I miss all those people who regularly review!

Well. I hope they're still around, to bring nostalgia. :)

Gad i miss writing :)

***

It had been a long night for everyone. A long, tiring night.

Each member had gone back to the Koneko with a sense of relief that it was already over, with a lingering regret for a child they could not save. It had been one of those few times that they had felt defeated despite the fact that they were able to complete the mission without any serious injuries.

The corridors were dark. None had bothered to turn on the lights as they padded off to their respective rooms in silence.

He knew Ken had been most affected by the loss. The boy was just about eight or nine years old, just about the age of the children Ken taught football.

He was a beautiful child. They had been shown a picture at the briefing. A tanned smiling child with silky brown hair and green eyes. In fact, he did look a lot like Ken from the photo. Even the life that reached out from the photo did greatly resemble like Ken's own vibrancy.

Yohji had commented "How adorable, a miniature Ken." Omi and Manx had laughed at that. Even Aya had been a little amused.

The boy's name was Rui.

His own father had held him hostage when Aya and Ken had entered the house, when all the guards had fallen.

_His own father._

***

He had felt the sudden tension of his partner Ken was standing rigid beside him, his fists clenched tightly, the blades of his Bugnuk drawn as his lean frame shook with a tremor that almost seemed seismic, as if the very ground he was standing upon trembled beneath him.

"Let him go." Aya had said to the massive man; a well-known druglord who towered over his small son. The child trembled with fear at the sight of the two dark shadows in front of them, one of which had fiery red hair and the other dark enough to be a full shadow, not knowing that it was the man who stood behind him whom he should fear – not knowing that the gun pointed at the back of his head belonged to his own father.

Aya heard a small snarl rumble from the Ken's core, heard a growl so feral that he for a moment he wasn't sure that it came from Ken at all.

"My _son_ and I are getting away from here." The man said loudly, his face stretched in an ugly grimace. He tugged the boy with him, his left hand across the boy's chest, his right hand holding the pistol against the boy's skull.

Neither of the two assassins moved, rooted to the spot. They couldn't risk the boy getting hurt. They couldn't allow the life of an innocent be put at risk in exchange for the success of the mission.

The man disappeared through the door leading to the garage. They knew that if they were able to drive the vehicle, all was lost. They had parked Yohji's Seven too far away; there was no way they could catch up.

"Let's split up. I'll go around, you keep him distracted." Aya disappeared into the darkness as Ken moved forward through the door through which the man and his son had disappeared into. The car was already idling in the open garage, thin smoke trickling from the exhaust pipe.

The man had just been shoving the boy into a black sedan.

It was his chance.

Ken leapt forward; there was no time to wait for Aya. Aya would just have to catch up with what was going on.

The target flung open the door on the driver's side. Ken was barely ten feet away. Just five strides from the man who had caused so much destruction.

"Stop right there." Ken commanded, his bladed fist held in front of his face. The man paused and grinned fiercely. "Do you dare kill me right in front of an innocent child?"

"I'd rather kill you before you hurt the child." The snarl came from low in his throat. He almost didn't recognize his own voice and wondered whether Balinese, Bombay or Abyssinian recognized it too.

"I think not." The man reached deep into the car and yanked the boy by his brown hair. The young faced twisted in pain. "Papa!" The boy protested, his eyes wide in terror at the gun pointed up at his chin. It was fearful, yet uncomprehending.

"Let him go Mimura." Ken took a step forward.

_Where the fuck was Aya?!_

The man yanked the boy further until only the boy's legs remained draped upon the driver's seat.

"I need an ace. You seem unwilling enough to hurt an innocent child. Let me go, I'll give him to you – a trade." The smile was particularly evil, calculating.

Ken took another step forward. Just four more steps and he was there; he'd be close enough to take him down.

Black eyes narrowed at the movement. Mimura was watching him carefully, yet not fearfully.

Ken was too far; Mimura calculated his chances and let loose a couple of shots in his direction. They didn't quite find their marks; both hit Ken right shoulder, blood spurting in irregular bursts as bullets buried themselves into flesh, but Siberian was a man on a mission; and Mimura could guess what would be enough to hinder him.

With a sinister chuckle, a load crack echoed in the room. The boy's tear-streaked eyes were wide open, staring blindly at Ken as he was thrust at Ken, blood trickling through his mouth as brain matter exploded into the air and painted a gruesome mural into the low ceiling.

"NOOOO!" His anguished cry seemed amplified, reverberating off all the solid surfaces in the garage.

"What happened?" He heard Abyssinian snap into the receiver. But there was nothing else, just the child's face filling his vision as he lunged to catch the falling body.

He felt the deadweight imprint itself upon his arms, wet and warm and thick like soup and he hit the ground – hard. His chin connected with the cement and he felt his brain rattle in his skull.

It couldn't be…

He heard the shriek of the tires, but he didn't care. The one they needed to protect was dead – by his own father's hand.

***

The car shot forward but Aya was already there, framed in the opening of the garage and as the car sped past right beside him he thrust his blade into the glass, his right hand gripping the hilt, his left palm covering the butt of the sword for added force. The glass shattered, and the car swiveled in a dizzy zigzag before crashing into a small pine tree. Aya had checked. The target was dead, a big gaping hole in his temple where Aya had twisted the blade of his sword.

He sprinted back to the garage, his heart pounding from the rush of ending another life, as well as anxiety sprouting from the gunshots he had just heard.

Ken was lying curled up on the ground in his right side, both arms extended, cradling the child towards him.

Ken's eyes were as blank as the child's corpse.

There was nothing there.

"Balinese, Bombay, I need your assistance here at the garage. Bring the car and the motorcycle."

***

Aya had driven Ken's motorcycle home. Ken wouldn't let the child go. Either way, he was in no condition to drive, it seemed like he was in shock. His arms were crossed against Rui's back, drawing him against his own chest, the boy's blood smearing against his neck and all over his clothes, as if it were his own.

Aya had never seen Ken like this, but then again, a child had never been killed on a mission. And of course, never by the child's own father. Ken had always been such a great fan of parenthood.

It had been more than an hour since they had gotten home.

They had finally managed to make Ken part with the child he carried, and Kritiker agents were waiting, ready to take the evidence away. Ken seemed dazed, but mobile.

The moment that the car was parked, he shot off, walking unsteadily as Omi unlocked the backdoor of the shop. He had stumbled off into his own room quickly, without waiting for any of the others. His boots dragged like a drunken man's, and he leaned his weight upon the wooden banister, much of a dead-weight himself.

They had each tended to his own petty wounds, but Aya's thoughts lingered upon Ken's stricken face. His hands shook as he smoothed down the tape that held gauze to his skin and winced when he touched a sore spot.

He'd go to Ken, he'd go his lover… just as soon as he finished mending his own wounds. He knew he needed all his strength for what he was about to face.

***

Aya had stood outside Ken's door, knocking quietly on the door. There was no response.

"I'm coming in, Ken." Normally, he wouldn't have even bothered to ask. There were no closed doors between the two of them. But tonight was different. Even Aya hesitated to invade the privacy that Ken needed to overcome his anguish. It was an emotion Aya rarely ever saw in Ken, because Ken was just so adept at masking his pain.

Ken was just incorrigible, it seemed like he had the talent to bounce back from anything, like he was impervious to pain and sorrow. Ken was never someone who did anything half-way. His happiness was never selfish, it was never contained to himself alone – he was always generous with his elation. He wanted everyone to feel his happiness to the extent that he was like the flu. His smiles and rakish grins always found their marks and always elicited an answering smile. Aya had always been the only exception… until recently.

But there had been times when Aya heard Ken's strangled sobs in his room through the walls, soft as a lover's sigh only infinitely more pained. Just as Ken was determined to share his joy, so was he just as determined to keep his pain to himself. Ken was a martyr. He suffered by himself, whether or not Aya approved of that. There were days when Aya had to force himself inside Ken's room just so he could tend to the wounds he knew Ken had received from the mission. These nights would usually start in minor spats about how Ken could handle his own mending, thank you; and end up with Ken finally and reluctantly agreeing to let Aya patch him up.

Ken was just too stubborn for his own good.

"Ken?"

The room was swathed in darkness. Only a sliver of moonlight streamed through the window. He saw prone figure lying on the bed, and a shiver of fear crawled down his spine like cold sweat.

Aya fumbled for the light switch and soon warm yellow light flooded into the room.

"Ken?"

Ken was lying belly down the bed, his eyes unseeing, a tremor traveling down him like an errant shiver as if he were lying naked upon the snow. Blood pooled around him. His blood.

The night had been so tumultuous that no one had thought to check his injuries. Nobody knew that Ken had gotten injured during the mission and they had all just assumed that the ever present blood on Ken's clothes had been from those he had killed… and the dead child he would not let go of. Ken's weapon did not leave room for finesse; there was always a lot of blood.

Aya had though that the three shots were aimed at the child. He should've known...

He was facing right at Aya, as if he had been waiting for Aya to come; as if his face, so set in unmoving grief to be the first image Aya saw.

"Ken?" Aya knelt one knee upon the edge of the bed and attempted to shake Ken awake, but there was no response. His hand upon Ken's shoulder went away slick with blood.

He was alive, but he wasn't there.

"Don't do this Ken."

"Kenkenken." He moaned.

Ken's hair smelled faintly of apple shampoo and sweat and blood. At any other time, Aya would have been turned on and they would've spent the night in each other's embrace, whispering sweet nothings to each other as they waited for the night to claim them in sleep.

Aya's cries for his lover's return rose to such a crescendo that the remaining two members of Weiß rushed to the scene, hearts thudding in fear at the possibilities Aya's cries brought with it.

They stood at the doorway, crowding, their eyes wide at the sight of Aya seated on the Ken's ever-messy bed, cradling an ever-unmoving Ken.

There had been no response – nor would there be, perhaps, for a long time or, God forbid… ever at all.

***

The loss of blood had been massive, but the skill of the Kritiker staff was unparalleled. They were experts at patching up half-dead agents, and Ken was no exception.

His shoulder should heal within a few weeks, they had said.

But Ken never moved, never talked.

He had been diagnosed as catatonic.

Awake but as if he were in a coma.

That had been two months ago, and still no change.

His body had been healing, but his mind refused to return.

Kritiker had made plans to replace him.

***

Ken had been there in the park forever. Certainly for as long as he could remember… but then he couldn't remember much of anything, only a never-ending night.

Sometimes fireflies would come, floating around like weightless golden nuggets in the air. Sometimes, a slight breeze would whistle softly through the blades of grass; or a light drizzle would pepper him gently with a pitter-patter than was somehow more comforting than the silence. It made him feel less alone, less isolated.

He sat there on the park bench, staring at the sky filled with stars sometimes obscured by the clouds. Or lay on the grass. There was no hunger, no pain, no other bodily need. He could go nowhere else; for he was boxed in by invisible walls.

He was stuck there.

There was no one else.

It was the first night he was there.

When he had found himself, alone in the inky darkness, he tried to walk away, but he couldn't. The park stretched on forever and ever.

He looked down and found that he was dressed in his jean and a white shirt.

He was barefoot.

But he didn't mind, the grass was cool, just right. It felt good under his feet.

He felt a drop fall from the sky and onto his face, landing on his cheek, just under his eye. It was warm and he wiped it off.

He knew that smell.

Blood.

_Was there no escape?_

***

There were times he would hear Aya's voice, stern and reproachful telling him to snap out of it; or Omi's, soft and pleading. He knew Yohji's patient, easy-going croon, coaxing him out of the park.

But he was comfortable there. He liked it there.

It was peaceful. There was no violence, nor death.

"_Ken… please, koi. I need you."_

Aya's voice was faint and muffled, as if coming from afar through a wall of clouds. It was pleasantly familiar and he could almost imagine Aya's soft eyes looking at him like he did no one else, looking at him with so much veiled adoration.

He missed Aya. But going back to Aya meant… going back to death and destruction…

***

It was the 124th day.

Arrangements had been made for Siberian's replacement.

New assignments had been given.

They wanted Ken back, but he didn't want to return. He liked where he was, and perhaps, he was going to stay.

***

R_M: Well, that was that. The first in years, I hope it was fine.


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